


Cigarette Break

by itsalwayssunnyintaubate



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Cigarettes, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, References to Addiction, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoking, enemies to friend to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyintaubate/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyintaubate
Summary: On a bleak London evening, Geoffrey McCullum comes across a smoking Jonathan Reid - smoking in the sense that he has a cigarette in his hands and Geoffrey would really like one of those."Do you have another one?" He asks. Very softly, Jonathan replies:"No, but I'll roll you one."Of fucking course he rolls his own cigarettes, Geoffrey thinks as he stares in fascination at long elegant fingers moving with swift practised movements - paper, filter, tobacco. As he accepts the cigarette, the hunter wants only to punch himself in the face because the only thing he can think is, oh, Jonathan has really beautiful hands.It is the second time he sees him that evening, though, the first one being when Charlotte Ashbury left the Reid mansion with rushed footsteps yelling at the doctor to go fuck himself. So, yeah, Geoffrey still kind of wants to know what that was all about.





	1. Thank you for smoking!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a thing for hands. There. And smoking, while totally unhealthy and not recommended, can be sexy as hell as I'll make damn sure you can see in following chapters.

Geoffrey McCullum is not a big fan of the West End.

Lie.

He is actually not a fan of the posh people who reside in the district, so full of themselves, egos as big as their greed. The quarter itself, he quite enjoys. It’s the only part of London that does not smell of sickness and decay these days and, even though his reasons for coming to this part of town are never good, he is glad to not be in Whitechapel for a change.

There have been some strange rumours regarding the Ascalon Club and, he thinks, it never hurts to be vigilant.

The night is cold enough that the Priwen leader finds himself trying to burrow further inside his coat, his scarf wrapped high on his neck. He can see his own breath in front of his face on every exhale, pale puff of warm air in the cold bleak evening. It is still early, though, so there is plenty of people roaming the streets towards his men are patrolling Temple Garden. He is not doing any patrolling himself, but running around to check on the guards and trying to put together the puzzle of what they’re seeing is its own sort of labour.

He huffs, rubbing his gloved hands together, and his feet slow down as he passes in front of the Reid mansion. The windows are all open, tonight; the lights all on as if anyone but Jonathan Reid is currently living there.

Geoffrey would feel bad for the Ekon if he weren’t so busy feverously hating his kind.

It’s already been a few months since the doctor’s return to the city in the aftermath of the Spanish flu epidemic but Geoffrey hasn’t really seen him since their last encounter at the cemetery. Looking back, it feels like a lifetime ago.

It seems like this is his lucky night, though, because just as he thinks of Reid, he exits the bulding after dark-skinned girl. She has her face twisted in a furious grimace, angry tears shining in her eyes. He, on the other hand, looks almost pained.

“Charlotte!” He calls, running after her. The girl stops when she hears his name, looks behind her with a scowl and yells:

“You don’t come after me, Reid!” She raises a warning finger and the Ekon freezes in place. “After all that happened… how _dare_ you?”

“Charlotte, wait a second!” He pleads, voice loud on the dark streets. Passers-by look over, whisper among themselves but quickly move on, too _bourgeois_ to be seen gossiping in public, stretching their necks in search of a scandal to gush over.

“Fuck you!” Charlotte cries in response, flipping the doctor off and turning on her heels to walk away.

“Goddamn it…” Jonathan swears, running a hand through his pale face. He looks like he wants to go after her, but lets out a frustrated sigh and goes back inside.

Geoffrey shakes his head in disapproval and continues on his way. Jonathan Reid looks older than his years, he considers, wondering if the man has been feeding at all lately, but soon his thoughts return to his mission as he encounters the first group of guards nearby.

His men have nothing but hunger and cold to report, though, and demand that if they’re going to have to keep coming to this part of London, that they Geoffrey should at least bring them something to eat.

“You’ve gone soft on me after this epidemic, you know that?” Geoffrey admonishes, but by the time he finishes talking to everyone, he is already listing mentally what he might be able to bring with him the next night.

His walk back is mostly uneventful. The Ascalon club is quiet and dark and when Geoffrey thinks he heard something like a Skal, it turns out to be just a young couple enthusiastically making out in the shadows of an alley.

“Hey, you!” He calls out, boots pounding on cobblestone as he approaches them. “This is no place for that! You oughta go home!”

The couple jumps apart, a young man with a round pink face and… _another_ man, younger-looking but just as tall as the other. Geoffrey clears his throat as the first one steps in front of the other as if trying to hide his companion.

“It’s not safe out here, lads.” Geoffrey manages, lips trembling as he tries to remain serious and authoritative _. Fucking kids_ , he thinks.

“Sorry, sir.” The pink-faced man says. “We’re leaving.”

“You’d better.” Geoffrey punctuates with a final sigh. If he could fall into his bed right this moment, he would, but he still has to write down his reports before he forgets all the nothing his men reported him. The couple scurries away as he continues on his way, anxious to end this night.

As he passes in front of the Reid residence, however, he stops again. Staring thoughtfully at the sky above with a cigarette between his fingers and smoke swirling between his open lips is Jonathan Reid, leaning against the wall as if he does not even have the strength to stand up by himself.

“Setting a good example there, I see.” Geoffrey can’t resist commenting as soon as he’s close enough to be heard. Jonathan casts him a surprised look as he elaborates: “Haven’t you heard that smoking is bad for you.”

“Says who?” Jonathan shoots back, taking a long drag from the cigarette and exhaling.

“My doctor.” Geoffrey replies. Now that he’s able to get a good look at him, he notices the doctor is thinner than he remembers, his cheekbones a little sharper. He looks about as tired as Geoffrey feels himself.

No, fuck that. He looks _drained_.

“Who is your doctor, if I may inquire?” Jonathan questions, an exhausted smile surfacing on his lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes, though.

“None of your business, _leech_.” Geoffrey replies. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, to call Jonathan a leech, and he doesn’t really mean anything by it. Not anymore, he thinks. He doesn’t know exactly when he stopped thinking of Jonathan as a pariah, if it was when he insisted they weren’t enemies, when they fought and he had Geoffrey at his mercy and decided to spare his life. Or later, when he returned to London to try and help his city any way he could even when guilt and hopelessness ate at his undead heart.

“He’s half-right, though.” Jonathan considers, voice smooth like the smoke he inhales.

“How come?”

“Smoking _is_ bad. For _you_.” The vampire says with a toothy smile, too cold to be considered friendly. “For me, though, it doesn’t really matter. It’s just an addiction to try and cancel the other one.”

“The other o-… oh!” Geoffrey decides to stop talking before he makes a fool of himself. He gestures towards the cigarette in Jonathan’s hand. “Do you have another one?”

“No, but I’ll roll you one.” Jonathan replies very softly. “Hold this for me.”

Geoffrey takes the lit cigarette Jonathan hands him and patiently waits while the doctor fits a filter and some tobacco on a sheet of rolling paper. Of _fucking course_ he rolls his own cigarettes, the posh bastard – finely chopped tobacco from a small wooden box, thin sliver of paper wrapping around a small filter. He does most of the work one handed and Geoffrey finds himself watching in fascination as long, elegant fingers lift the unfinished cigarette to Jonathan’s lips.

Jonathan has beautiful hands, Geoffrey thinks before his sleep-clouded brain can be stopped and then feels like kicking himself for his thoughts. There must be something _seriously_ wrong with him tonight, thinking that Jonathan Reid’s hands are beautiful as he rolls him a smoke.

Then Jonathan licks the paper to seal the cigarette and Geoffrey looks up to the sky with a sigh that is only partially annoyed.

“Does it work?” Geoffrey asks as Jonathan hands him the cigarette and takes his still lit one back.

“Does what work?” Jonathan asks in response, shaking the ashes off his cigarette tip before bringing it up to his lips.

“Smoking.”

Jonathan inhales the pearly white smoke. Exhales carefully, angling his face so that he is not blowing it at the hunter’s face. Says, thoughtfully:

“Oh. Yeah. Yes, it does.” Geoffrey reaches for a lighter in his pocket and soon joins the doctor, nicotine rushing through his veins like electricity, buzzing around his stomach, inside his very bones. “Blood used to be on my mind from the moment I woke up to the moment I fell asleep. Now, however, I can only function normally after I smoke…”

Geoffrey snorts before taking another drag. The smoke burns his throat, but it always does. Maybe he really ought to lay off smoking for a while, but it is _really_ difficult not to indulge with the way things are.

Leading the Guard of Priwen is not really the healthiest of lifestyles, but smoke is not what he requires in order to wake up.

“That’s coffee for me.” He offers. Jonathan makes a weird face, then, hurt and dreaming all at once. “I know. No tea for me. _Coffee_. The way mum used to make, strong and dark like tar.”

“I miss coffee…” He admits. “And tea… and a whole lot of things.”

“I doubt I could live without it…” Geoffrey continues. After some consideration, adds: “I’m not exactly a morning person.”

“Me neither.” Jonathan says, smiling at the joke that only he thinks is funny. “I mean… not even really a person, am I?”

“Funny, Dr. Reid.” Deadpans Geoffrey, but there’s an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Jonathan looks offended for a second, saying:

“I thought we were past these formalities, Geoffrey. Please, call me Jonathan.”

This time a soft laugh escapes the hunter and he replies:

“Alright. Jonathan.” He takes a step back. He considers asking about the girl from earlier, but he does not want to overstep. After all, Jonathan is smiling back at him, something that looks like hope glinting in his formerly empty gaze. Geoffrey lifts his cigarette, saying, “Thanks for the smoke.”

“Anytime.” The Ekon replies, tipping an imaginary hat. “Good night, Geoffrey.”

“G’night.” Geoffrey replies, fitting the cigarette between his lips and continuing his route.

For a long time, he wondered what it would be like when he met Jonathan again. It’s not like they were on the best of terms and after all that happened, Geoffrey wondered if the vampire would eventually go rogue. If Geoffrey would have to face him again, if he would have to put him down.

Bumming a cigarette from the doctor and bantering in the cold London evening, as it turns out, was not even close to what Geoffrey was expecting. Not that he’s complaining.

Let’s be very clear about that.

He’s not complaining. At all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey gets hurt.

“The club is closed, I’m telling you.” Horace, one of the older guards, is telling Geoffrey as everyone gets ready for their patrols. Geoffrey nods thoughtfully but says:

“It might look like it, but the leeches are still around.” He tests the weight of the crossbow on his wrist with a frown. “You saw that body from last week. They’re still killing. We have to stay vigilant.”

“I thought those bastards had fled England.” Johnson, a red-haired rookie, comments, strapping a pistol to his hip.

“Aye. They did. But they’re coming back.” Another guard pipes in, dramatic as if he’s telling a scary story. He raises a finger at Johnson’s face as he ads, “One by one.”

Johnson grimaces, pushing the man away with an irritated huff, but Geoffrey takes his words more seriously.

With the rumours that they’ve been hearing all over the place, the ones about Ascalon being on the lookout for new recruits, they have to double their efforts.

“And that’s how we get them.” Geoffrey says darkly. “One by one.”

-x-

One by one, however, doesn’t really work. Geoffrey is all by himself going from one patrolling group to the other when he gets jumped by three Ekons, a girl and two men. He is pretty sure he recognises them too, from around town. The girl is young, but she is the most vicious of the trio, ravenous like Geoffrey has not seen Ekons in a while.

He barely gets his sword out before he feels his blood freeze inside his body only to start pouring out of his pores, flying through thin air towards the female Ekon who laughs in delight.

“Fucking leeches…” Geoffrey manages when the paralysis wears off. He manages to take her down eventually, but he gets bitten enough times that he’s starting to see doubled. Ekons are always troubling foes and it’s been a while since Geoffrey faced one of their kind by himself.

A few months, in actuality. Since his face-off with Jonathan Reid at Pembroke Hospital.

They fight like Jonathan, these Ekons, and although they are not nearly as strong as the doctor, their numbers work in their favour. Geoffrey finds himself wondering if Reid had been holding himself back, that night, not really intent on killing but more on incapacitating him.

Tonight’s enemies, nevertheless, want to take him down. His vision is starting to darken at the corners, adrenaline no longer enough to keep him upright. As he stumbles around, gracelessly waving his sword around, he wonders if _this_ is how he dies. After the epidemic is over, after most of the rogue Skals and beasts around town have been cleared out, in the hands of bunch of random Ekons…

He manages to jump one of the remaining men when he gets close enough. They fight like Jonathan and even _sound_ like him, Geoffrey ponders, but it might just be the blood loss talking…

“Let me go, you idiot! I’m on your side!” The man he grabbed tells him as he tries to shake him off, flash of bright blue eyes and voice smooth like a sin.

“Jonathan?” Geoffrey manages before promptly passing out.

-x-

It would be very ironic if Geoffrey died hallucinating Reid, but, luckily for him, that’s not the case. The doctor is pretty real, in fact. Real enough to take down both his remaining foes with practiced and elegant moves before gathering the hunter in his arms and rushing through the streets towards the hospital.

Jonathan goes as fast as he can, as time is of the essence. Geoffrey is pale. Clammy. He’s breathing shallowly, too, heart beating with no rhythm whatsoever. By the time they reach the hospital, Jonathan’s arms ache from the hunter’s weight, but he still manages to jump on his bedroom balcony in order to avoid the curious onlookers that hang around the hospital reception.

He quickly sets up a blood transfusion for the hunter whom he lays down on his own bed. The smell of the blood is tantalizing even though he has been very well fed by the Ekons Geoffrey was fighting, so Jonathan distracts himself by rolling a cigarette which he then smokes by the window.

It was lucky, really, that he stumbled upon the hunter tonight. He had been looking for Charlotte around town, focusing his vampire senses in order to track her, but he wasn’t having any success and that’s when he noticed a human fighting off two Ekons, the body of a third one lying on the cold cobblestone next to them.

He knew it was Geoffrey as soon as he got close enough to hear the fight. He knew it was Geoffrey and knew that the hunter was losing.

Jonathan huffs out a puff of smoke into the night. He’s glad he was able to avoid something worse happening, but the hunter is still weak. Too weak.

Geoffrey stirs in his sleep, but doesn’t wake up.

There’s a frown of worry on the Jonathan’s face as he smokes.

He’s still concerned about Charlotte. It’s been a week since they argued and it was their worst argument ever. Even when Elisabeth died, Charlotte hadn’t been that filled with rage. But, at that time, she didn’t _want_ anything from Jonathan.

Now, however, she does want something. Something Jonathan is not willing to give her.

Immortality.

That is what she came to demand from his last time they met. He naturally rejected her, as he had before, but she was desperate this time and did not take the rejection very well.

Jonathan is not even surprised by the explosive way she reacted, screaming curses into the night air even as Jonathan half-heartedly tried to go after her. He thought she would come back eventually, but as she didn’t, he went out looking for her.

Night after night.

Well, he supposes she’s good at hiding from vampires after all this time, but it still sets him on edge. He worries about her. She’s the only living remain of Elisabeth, his mentor.

His _friend_.

Jonathan takes a long drag from the cigarette and starts mumbling a soft lullaby to himself. It’s an old Irish song, something his mother and sister would sing from time to time. The words are still etched upon his memory, bittersweet and soothing.

“Jonathan?” Geoffrey’s hoarse voice calls him. Jonathan immediately puts out his cigarette and rushes back to the bed where the hunter blinks at him with bleary eyes.

“Yes, Geoffrey?” Jonathan softly offers. Geoffrey clears his throat before asking:

“What… happened?”

It sounds like it hurts him to speak. It probably does, Jonathan considers. He was, after all, pretty badly beaten.

“You were ambushed by some rogue Ekons, I think.” Jonathan explains. He reaches out, pushing fingers against Geoffrey’s throat to feel his pulse. It’s steadier, but not normal. “I managed to subdue them, but you were in pretty bad shape by the time I reached you…”

“You rescued me.” Geoffrey says with a bitter laugh. Jonathan smiles kindly and moves to check on the blood transfusion. They still have half a bag to go.

“I suppose I did…” He replies, returning to lay the back of his hand on Geoffrey’s forehead to check his temperature. He feels cold to the touch, covered in sweat as he is, so Jonathan reaches for the soft spot under his jaw, hoping to get a better feel of him.

“What’chu doing?” Geoffrey groggily asks. He’s a little too cold for Jonathan’s liking, but it is a cold night. Jonathan turns his touch into a caress as he rubs soothing circles over the hunter’s scalp.

“Your temperature is a little low, but at least your heartbeat has settled.” The hunter closes his eyes at touch and Jonathan hesitates before withdrawing his hand. The soft vulnerability around Geoffrey’s eyes almost feel like something too private for him to witness, so he asks: “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Geoffrey complains, blinking very slowly. “My chest hurts… it’s a little hard to breathe.”

“That’s the blood loss, I reckon.” Jonathan explains, but still lays a hand on the man’s chest, trying to feel if there’s anything weird as much as offer comfort. “You’re going to be fine.”

Jonathan starts to move away when a big hand wraps around his wrist, preventing him from doing so. The hunter’s voice sounds earnest when he calls:

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan takes a deep breath. It is one thing to reach out and touch the man. It is another to be touched in return.

“Yes, Geoffrey?” Jonathan says, a little breathlessly. The hunter manages:

“Thank you.”

Geoffrey’s grasp softens until he lets go of Jonathan.

“Anytime.” It’s the doctor’s answer, skin tingling where Geoffrey’s fingers were wrapped around his wrist. “Sleep, now.”

It’s not like Geoffrey has much of a choice, tired as he is. It takes him a couple of minutes to fall asleep, though, and when he does it’s to the dry smell of smoke in the air and Jonathan’s soft baritone in his ears singing about faeries and flowers and the sort of love that is secret and sacred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently love writing about Geoffrey getting hurt. I'm sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan indulges Geoffrey's bad habits.

Geoffrey McCullum sleeps fitfully, but sleeps through the night. Jonathan watches over him and when the sky outside turns bright blue, he carefully shuts the windows and the balcony door and goes to his work station. He does not need to look at the hunter twice to see the anaemia building in his body, so he gets his ingredients out to brew him some medicine, but it’s only a little after eight that Jonathan gathers enough courage to shake the hunter awake.

“Geoffrey?” He calls softly until dark eyes flutter open. “Geoffrey, I need you to drink this.”

“What is that?” Geoffrey groggily asks and then frowns. “Fuck… My head!”

“You have anaemia, vampire hunter. This will make you feel better,” Jonathan explains, offering a glass that Geoffrey promptly downs, grimacing unhappily. There is a fond smile on Jonathan’s lips as he takes the glass back and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit?” Geoffrey promptly offers, but his eyes soften when they meet the doctor’s. “Sorry. Not your fault.”

Jonathan sets the glass on the nightstand and out of habit takes the wooden box where he keeps his tobacco. Instead of opening it, he wonders aloud:

“What were you even thinking trying to fight three Ekons by yourself?”

“They weren’t that strong,” Geoffrey deflects. Jonathan shoots him an unconvinced look.

“They were pretty strong, alright.”

“ _I_ am pretty strong.”

“You are pretty reckless, _that’s_ what you are,” Jonathan shoots back, smirking as he opens his box. He gathers tobacco with the tips of his fingers and sets it in the middle of a thin sheet of paper against a small filter. When he inhales the sharp tang of the plant matter, he can also smell Geoffrey’s sweat, the oils on his hair, the bitter medicine on his breath. Jonathan sniffs, pressing and rolling the cigarette between his fingers, and allows himself to glance at the hunter’s profile. He does not look bad for somebody who has just almost died. “Do you want one?”

“Yes, please,” Geoffrey promptly replies, earning another small smile from the doctor.

There aren’t many things that make Jonathan smile lately, but Geoffrey somehow manages to drag some joy out of him anyway.

“There you go,” Jonathan says, handing him the rolled cigarette. Geoffrey shifts on the bed, sitting up and making room for the doctor to sit next to him against the headboard. The bed dips and groans under their combined weight and Jonathan digs inside the wooden box for another sheet of paper. “What were you even doing out there?”

Geoffrey avoids answering in favour of fishing his lighter out of his pockets, but Jonathan can feel his hesitation. The hunter flicks the lighter on, bringing it to his cigarette, and inhales slowly before saying:

“The Ascalon club.” Jonathan licks the paper to close the second cigarette while looking at Geoffrey out of the corner of his eyes. The hunter takes another drag before adding in a puff of smoke, “I’ve heard some weird shit about them, lately…”

“What kind of things?” Jonathan inquires, accepting the lighter from Geoffrey. He lights up as well, cigarette loosely fit between his lips. “They’ve been closed for a while, most members are either exiled or dead.”

“You’re not wrong, Jonathan,” Geoffrey says, pocketing the lighter and relaxing back onto the headboard, shoulder bumping into Jonathan’s. “That’s why they’re recruiting.”

When Jonathan comprehends what he hears, his blood feels like ice inside his veins.

 _Recruiting_.

“Bloody hell…” Jonathan swears, tensing up.

“What is it?”

Jonathan swallows his dread with a cloud of bitter smoke, feeling Geoffrey’s eyes on him like a physical weight.

“You look worried...” Geoffrey prods.

“It’s…” Jonathan hesitates and, unable to meet the hunter’s gaze, half-lies: “I just wish I could spend more than a month without any crisis emerging...”

Geoffrey lets out a harsh, smoky laugh.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he offers. Jonathan finds himself relaxing further against the bed and the warmth of Geoffrey, who does not seem to mind or even notice his proximity.

Jonathan has been up since before last sunset and, as his exhaustion finally catches up to him, it is comforting to not be alone for a change. Not that he is really alone, you see. He stills has his colleagues, and Avery back at the house, but nobody has really _seen_ him for what he is since Elisabeth.

Yet, now…

Jonathan narrows his eyes at the peculiar feeling of brotherhood that blooms for the man beside him. Maybe he was, after all, correct in his former assessment that they could be something other than the rivals Geoffrey had insisted on painting them as.

“Jonathan, are you _trying_ to set yourself on fire?!”

Jonathan startles awake just as Geoffrey plucks the lit cigarette from between his lax fingers, reaching across Jonathan’s body to put it out on the ashtray on the bedside table. Jonathan blinks up at Geoffrey’s handsome face, twisted between exasperation and fondness, and inhales a rogue wave of musk and nicotine, masculine and dangerous.

“I…” Jonathan manages as Geoffrey sits back down. He rubs fingers against his tired eyes and adds, weakly, “Thanks.”

Geoffrey’s response is to stand up on careful feet, recommending:

“Sleep, Reid.”

“No, you… Geoffrey. _You_ should rest,” Jonathan replies, but he is already sliding down onto the mattress, fatigue taking over.

“I’ll rest back at the headquarters,” Geoffrey argues, throwing his coat on. “Get some sleep, doctor.”

“Use the ladder on the balcony,” Jonathan sleepily instructs as he kicks his boots off. He really should undress, but can’t be bothered. He pulls the blankets up and just before drifting off, says, “No one saw you come in with me… it might raise questions.”

Geoffrey does not ask why as he exits towards the bright morning outside, mindful not to let too much light inside to disturb his sleeping saviour, but he wonders what questions would be risen. What people would think.

That they spent the night together?

 _But we did!_ , a rebellious voice adds inside Geoffrey’s mind before he can interrupt that train of thought. Those are dangerous waters to tread, he knows, so he grits his teeth and tells himself that the flutter in his heart is blood loss or something of the sort.

-x-

Jonathan is ravenous when he wakes up the following night. There is so much blood in his dreams he can barely stomach his own thoughts. He wonders exactly what is wrong with him, but _this_ hunger has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Geoffrey McCullum.

Jonathan remembers drinking from him, months ago, as vividly as if it had just happened.

He had drunk from humans before then. It had never been so nerve wrecking and yet delicious and it never was again.

And although the hunger now is every bit as real as it was back then — even though it is overpowering, it’s the only thing he can think about most days… even though he has many, _many_ other things to worry about, nothing has ever haunted him the way Geoffrey McCullum has proven himself capable of.

He wakes up with the hunter on his mind and even though he tries to keep himself busy at the hospital, but he can barely think of anything else all night long. And after his shift, as he makes his way to the West End intent on sleeping in his own house for a change, he keeps looking around in search of something he would not dare put into words.

Jonathan should feel relieved that Geoffrey is not out in the night with his men with the state of his health, but the Ekon is selfish enough not to. As he ascends the stairs of the mansion towards his bedroom, his mouth is bitter and his lungs ache for a cigarette. He does not have a chance to satisfy his addiction, however, because Avery finds him before he reaches his room.

“Good morning, Mr. Jonathan,” he greets the Ekon, who nods at the man in lieu of replying, throat tight. The butler prods, “Would you like some tea?”

“No, Avery. Thank you very much,” replies Jonathan, looking the man over. He looks just as tired as Jonathan feels, so the doctor asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, sir. Everything is okay,” The butler replies, but he doesn’t seem happy about it. As an afterthought, he adds, “Miss Ashbury stopped by yesterday.”

The name makes Jonathan’s heart ache, but he nods diligently.

“What is it she wanted?”

“She unfortunately did not say. She just left a note, though. I put it on your desk.”

“I’ll have a look at it before sleeping. Thank you, Avery. Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Jonathan.”

Jonathan closes the door of his bedroom as if the wood could protect him from the outside world. He really should speak to Charlotte sooner rather than later, but, as the night ends around him, he has only enough energy to roll himself a last cigarette and move out onto the balcony.

Lately, he has been feeling just like the elders he sees in the hospitals, in clinics, unable to adapt to the ever-changing world around him. He can only cross his fingers and hope that all the changes he feels more than sees are for the best.

Most of all, this is what he wants for Charlotte. A better world. Right now, however, he just stares into the night and smokes, so lonely it hurts to think about it.

He used to enjoy spending time by himself, away from the constant chatter of his mother and sister, but, as much as he has found safety in this solitude, he cannot stand it anymore. Being alone and being lonely _used_ to be different things, but, as he watches the single stream of his own smoke float out into the night, his wires feel all crossed and he wants to cry. Even the tobacco burning does not feel the same anymore, so he puts the cigarette out without finishing it, defeat dancing along with the nicotine in his veins. Back inside his bedroom, he undresses slowly as if every layer of clothing he peels away is a part of his own corrupted flesh.

He is down to his undershirt and shorts when he catches sight of his own reflection in the mirror. It always shocks him how difficult it is to recognize himself with the eerie paleness his skin has gained, the predatory darkness that permanently looms around him.

Only when he goes to his bed is that he notices the folded piece of paper on his desk. It barely smells like Charlotte anymore, but the neat handwriting inside is definitely hers. As he reads, the world turns an even darker shade around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter brings us a little more insight into where Jonathan is, emotionally speaking.   
> Idk I just really want to give him a hug, poor thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan looks for help somewhere he never expected to and finds more than he could ever hope for.

Jonathan hears Charlotte’s message loud and _fucking_ clear. He is positively livid when he throws his clothes back on and leaves on another search for the girl. Fury does not equal success, however, and if Charlotte is in the West End, she is hiding quite well.

She has, after all, had loads of practice and a more than competent teacher — how long her mother had escaped prosecution is a testimony to her competence. This train of thought brings ice to the Jonathan’s veins as he remembers that, after all Elisabeth had seen, all she had lived through, she decided to fade into blazing fire as a direct result of his own thoughtlessness.

He is _not_ about to allow Charlotte to go down the same destructive road. That’s why, when dawn threatens to break, the Ekon turns to what is at once his last hope and the last place he should step foot in.

The Priwen headquarters.

-x-

“And what is Talltree saying?” Geoffrey asks the older guard standing across his desk.

“Nothing useful, as usual…” The guard, Horace, replies with an unimpressed huff. “He is still complaining about that darned notebook, you know?”

“Yeah, I bet…” Geoffrey dismissively responds, but then raises his eyes in alarm, frowning. “Did you hear that?”

Horace just blinks at the leader.

“What, sir?”

Geoffrey’s frown deepens, but he ends up saying:

“I must be hearing things…” Horace steps away from the desk, casting a dubious glance towards the door as the other hunter asks, “Are there any men downstairs?”

“Yeah. Liebermann is at the door,” Horace replies. “Why do you ask?”

At that moment, Geoffrey’s office door slams open following the unmistakeable sounds of a vampire whooshing through the air. Horace has his pistol drawn and aimed in a second and is ready to start shooting when Geoffrey exclaims:

“Jonathan?!”

Halfway inside the room, the infamous doctor, dishevelled and wide-eyed, stares back at him.As the Ekon composes himself, and Geoffrey tells the other guard:

“Lower that thing, Horace! Jesus Christ!”

Horace visibly hesitates, but ends up complying.

“Sorry for barging in on you, Geoffrey…” Jonathan offers as if he has just come in unannounced rather than scaring the living hell out of the two men, hands raised as if that somehow makes him less menacing. It doesn’t and he should know better, Geoffrey thinks. Horace still has his pistol in a tight grip, ready to pop the Ekon, when Jonathan dramatically adds, “I need you.”

Geoffrey promptly ignores the way his heart leaps up to his throat in favour of shooting the doctor an unimpressed glare.

“Yeah, right…” Is his eloquent reply. Jonathan raises his eyebrows, the perfect figure of innocence and Geoffrey grimaces. Is the fucking prat really trying to give him the puppy-eyes? “How the hell did you get in?”

“You _don’t_ wanna know,” Jonathan quickly says, looking behind him as if expecting the entire guard to rush into the room after him. But no one comes and Geoffrey wonders why as Jonathan hurriedly adds, “I didn’t kill anyone, I swear…”

“Goddamn it, Reid…” Geoffrey curses, running a palm down his face, and tells the other guard: “Horace, you’d better go check on the guards downstairs… and you! Are you out of your bloody mind, Jonathan? You’re lucky half my men are out on patrols and the other half are asleep.”

Jonathan has the gall to look embarrassed as he gets out of Horace’s way as the guard exits, looking around at the small room they are in, a messy and cosy mix of office and bedroom. Geoffrey shuts the door with a sigh.

“I… I didn’t know where else to go,” Jonathan admits. Geoffrey looks more worried than annoyed when he demands:

“What are you even _doing_ here?” And, with a softer voice, “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

And that is a _good_ thing, Geoffrey reminds himself. Jonathan Reid is a vampire and dead vampires are great things. But Geoffrey feels all sorts of wrong when he thinks about Jonathan getting hurt and he definitely does not want to dwell on that at the moment.

“I thought we had a truce,” Jonathan tries to sound light-hearted, but he knows Geoffrey doesn’t buy it for a second.

“ _You and I_ have a truce, Reid, and most of my men respect me enough to follow my lead, but don’t fool yourself thinking they’re completely under my control,” Geoffrey says, barely believing he has to explain something so basic. “ _Your kind_ is our primary target, leech.”

It shouldn’t sting, that _word_ , but Jonathan is not at his most invulnerable and finds himself considering the possibility that Geoffrey’s opinion of him might, after all, never change, no matter how many cigarettes they smoke together.

With a fatigued huff, the Ekon says:

“Charlotte Ashbury is missing. I’ve been looking for her like crazy, but I can’t find her anywhere…”

Geoffrey blinks back at him in confusion.

“The suffragette? She’s not _that_ hard to find, Jonathan. Isn’t she rioting or picketing somewhere?”

Jonathan is not amused by Geoffrey’s words, but instead of answering, he fishes Charlotte’s message from his coat pocket and hands it over. Then he watches as the dread weighting inside his own chest is mirrored on Geoffrey’s eyes.

“What is this about?” the hunter demands, waving the paper around. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Jonathan shakes his head, taking the note back.

“She wanted me to turn her,” He explains in a defeated little voice, so uncharacteristic of his, and Geoffrey’s lips become a thin line. “We argued. It… it wasn’t pretty.”

“Shit,” Geoffrey cusses, walls crumbling as he looks at Jonathan with honest worry. “We have to act fast here, Jonathan.”

As the sun finally reaches Geoffrey’s window, Jonathan flinches visibly, his discomfort quickly escalating to unsustainable levels. Geoffrey moves to shut the drapes, but the vampire is still breathing heavily a while after, eyes wild with adrenaline but still sunken from exhaustion.

“You should sleep…” Geoffrey considers. “I took your bed yesterday; it’s only fair I repay you the favour…”

“You were sick…” _but recovering pretty well_ , Jonathan considers, looking the hunter over. He would pat himself on the back if he could find the energy to do so. “I couldn’t possibly sleep.”

“Well, you couldn’t possibly do anything else now, unless you want to burn to a crisp,” Geoffrey deadpans. He gestures towards the room as he offers: “It’s going to be a blindingly sunny day today, so it’s not like you have a choice. Just… Just take my bed, yeah? There’s a washing basin in the corner. The water is fresh.”

Jonathan looks over at the bed. It’s unmade, a mess of soft-looking blankets and pillow; it looks so inviting and it’s not like the hunter is wrong.

“I…” Jonathan starts before he can think of an excuse, but his habitual eloquence seems to have left him. Scratching his head, he asks, “Don’t _you_ need to sleep?”

Geoffrey raises an eyebrow.

“We’ll manage… It will be a tight fit, but you’ll just have to scoot over.” It takes Jonathan a second too long to, wide-eyed, understand that Geoffrey is joking. The hunter’s eyes soften as he says, “I was asleep until a couple of hours ago, Jonathan. Besides, I have work to do. This is my office, though, so I’ll be around all day long. I hope you’re not a light sleeper.”

Jonathan lets out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“No, not at all.” He smirks. “I sleep like the dead.”

That startles a chuckle out of Geoffrey.

“So you _do_ have a sense of humour underneath all that pose. You go ahead and make yourself at home, okay?” The hunter dismissively says, moving to sit behind his desk. There are so many piles of papers on top of it that Jonathan almost misses the half a dozen dirty teacups scattered about. “I’ll wake you if anything comes up,” Geoffrey promises and his words, more than anything else, unlock something inside Jonathan. Weight comes off the Ekon’s shoulders as a safety he hasn’t felt in a while settles over him.

Geoffrey is here. With his commanding voice and certainty.

He is going to help.

“Thank you, Geoffrey,” Jonathan says. Geoffrey looks up from his papers for a second. With a wink, he says:

“Get some rest, doctor.”

Jonathan does just that. As he lays on Geoffrey’s bed, he can smell the dried-up leftover coffee and tea in the cups scattered around, but also the scent he has become accustomed to associate with the hunter: smoke, leather, mint and gunpowder, hair oil and aftershave… all of it forms a thick fog that lulls the Ekon to sleep.

When he dreams, though, smoke and gunpowder are replaced by oil paint, thinner and cobalt drier. The strangely comforting presence of Geoffrey, in turn, is replaced by that of Elisabeth Ashbury, a worried frown on her face as she paints into the canvas the face of a monster Jonathan recognises as himself.

-x-

While Jonathan sleeps, Geoffrey manages to work through the most recent reports he’s received, looking for clues about what happened to the young Ashbury. He finds sightings of Ekons, Skals and Vulkods here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary: random beasts moving through town, some engaging in combat while others flee at the mere sight of his guards.

A woman from the docks reported seeing a pair of odd-looking men whispering together late at night, but Geoffrey reckons it might have been just the combination of conservative self-righteousness and young love that can’t see the light of day.

He has breakfast in his office, but eats lunch with the other guards in the dining hall. He notices the careful glances cast his way and hears faint, stuttered whispers that stop when he looks towards the source of the sound, but he refuses to offer clear explanation for the sleeping vampire in his bed. At least until Jonathan is awake, since he is not sure exactly how the Ekon would like to proceed.

When Geoffrey returns to his room, the doctor is still dead to the world and he remains like that until Geoffrey shakes him awake just as the sun disappears on the horizon. It takes Jonathan a couple of seconds to come back to Earth and it is only when he sees Geoffrey’s concerned look that he remembers where he is and why he is there.

“You alright?” Geoffrey asks as Jonathan’s face closes off. The Ekon glares at the fading luminosity sneaking inside from underneath the closed door in order to avoid the hunter’s eyes.

“It’s not… night, yet. Did something happen?” He asks, throwing his legs to the side of the bed. Geoffrey steps back to give him space.

“Not really, but I thought it might be a good idea to discuss plans before charging in?” He offers, still looking uncertainly at the other. “Are you sure you’re okay, doctor?”

Jonathan grimaces. “Sure, sure. I’m just…” He begins a little uncertainly. He gets up from the bed to find his discarded clothes and moves to wash his face, but he does not feel right at all. “A tad restless, I guess.”

He puts his coat on and shakes his head as if the movement could clear the darkness from his thoughts. The dream he was having before Geoffrey woke him up is still gnawing at the corners of his mind, the desperation on Elisabeth’s eyes and the eerie stillness of the whole scene.

“There’s a cigarette box near the window. Help yourself to one,” Geoffrey offers.

Jonathan immediately perks up at that. The sky outside the window he opens is dark blue, but some golden still lingers on the horizon and Jonathan wonders if Geoffrey can see it too.

“Did you sleep at all?” Jonathan asks the hunter, who moves to stand next to him as he answers:

“I told you. I slept plenty before you came here. Stop worrying about me.”

Jonathan nods and lifts the cigarette — it’s pre-rolled, but he does not mind — before noticing what is missing.

“Do you have a lighter?” He asks the hunter. Geoffrey snorts and quickly fishes the object from inside his pocket, but instead of handing it to Jonathan he holds the lit flame to the cigarette between the Ekon’s lips. The darkness inside the room is catching up to the darkness outside and the way Geoffrey’s eyes catch the flicker of the fire is almost enough to make Jonathan forget to step away from him.

This close, Geoffrey is almost painfully handsome, strong face unshaved and a dangerous kind of tenacity in his eyes.

“We’re going to find her, Jonathan,” he reassures the other, his naturally hoarse voice warming Jonathan’s chest.

Jonathan drags his eyes away, towards the dark sky, a puff of smoke escaping his lips as he replies, “Thank you, Geoffrey.” Geoffrey raises his eyebrows. “It means a lot.”

Geoffrey nods and, safe from Jonathan’s attentive gaze, watches the troubled lines around the doctor’s eyes. He is way too attractive for his own good and Geoffrey wonders, absentmindedly, if there isn’t a girl somewhere mourning his absence since he was turned. After all, Jonathan does have the kind of posture that women, at least the women Geoffrey knows, can’t seem to resist. He’s all proper, voice smooth and warm, and it’s difficult not to imagine what he’s like when he’s stripped of all his careful demeanour. Geoffrey is already shocked to see him smoke as much as he does, cigarette carelessly fit between lips that look bright pink against pale skin.

Geoffrey is so enthralled by his rapt observation of Jonathan’s mouth that the bright blue eyes staring back at him catch him off-guard, making his heart shoot up into his throat, beating wildly.

He wonders if Jonathan can hear it because the doctor licks his lips between one drag and another, tongue red and wet. He’s probably a good kisser, too, Geoffrey imagines, and they’re close enough that the hunter could probably find out for himself if he weren’t pinned into place by the intensity of Jonathan’s gaze.

Jonathan very deliberately sets his open hand on the windowsill, then, cigarette between his fingers, and leans in slowly. Geoffrey feels what is about to happen in the pit of his stomach and even though Jonathan gives him all the time in the world to understand what he’s about to do, the hunter can’t move more than let out a shaky breath that Jonathan feels against his own lips.

In one moment they are lost to the world, and in the next they are jumping apart because of a few sharp knocks on the door. The lit cigarette falls from between Jonathan’s fingers onto the street below as Geoffrey inhales sharply and yells towards the door:

“Fucking _hell_ , I’m coming!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey and Jonathan go to the Ascalon Club.

“Sir, the other guards want to talk to you,” A quiet voice says through the slightly open door of Geoffrey office. “Oh, and… dinner is served.”

“We’ll be right down, Johnson,” Geoffrey replies, barely able to hide his frustration at being so abruptly interrupted. He runs his palm over his hair as if he is dishevelled. He feels _dishevelled_ , even though he’s been at his desk all day long. Jonathan, on the other hand, finds himself divided between an almost warm sort of loss and grief over the cigarette that fell through his fingers as Geoffrey stepped away from him, seemingly taking the light from the entire world with him.

“Is…” The guard outside de door begins in a whisper that he probably thinks it’s secretive, but that is absolutely clear to the vampire by the window. “Is _he_ there?”

With a defeated sigh, Geoffrey lets the door slide wide open and steps aside to give the guard a complete view of the room. Jonathan smiles and awkwardly waves at the rookie.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking…” The guard, Johnson, says, gathering courage. “What’s going on?”

“We’ll explain soon,” says Geoffrey. “Go ahead and eat, rookie.”

Johnson’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but the rookie groans, _‘yes sir’_ like an impertinent child and goes away.

Geoffrey does not close the door again. He looks at Jonathan sideways, face unreadable, and asks, “Are you coming, Reid?”

Just like they, they’re back to _Reid_. The Ekon has been Jonathan for the hunter since that first cigarette. Jonathan straightens his back, maintaining a carefully blank expression, and says, “You didn’t tell them.”

It’s not a question.

“No. I figured you might want to do the honours,” Geoffrey half-heartedly explains. As he holds the door for the doctor to step out, he adds, “ _While_ you apologise for kicking their arses on your way in…”

Jonathan gives him a tense smile and, through the cold that spreads in his gut, crosses the doorway.

-x-

Dinner is, to be perfectly candid, an awkward affair. At first glance, it might seem to be because the guards are wary of sharing a meal with one of the very creatures they hunt, but in reality it is mostly because Jonathan doesn’t eat. Can’t eat, actually. And they keep offering him food and drinks, almost like they forgot he’s not one of them, and he keeps having to refuse them.

Also, Jonathan sits on the bench beside Geoffrey and doesn’t talk much throughout the meal other than apologise and offer a quick explanation as to why Charlotte is so important to him, the last living remainder of his mentor and dear friend’s passage through this world. Geoffrey intercedes on his behalf, explaining that the Ekon is off-limits to the guard’s trigger-happy hands.

“Yes, Liebermann, I know you were knocked out, and you’ll have your chance to get even after we find the missing citizen you’re sworn to protect,” he has to say at some point, but he reaches out to Jonathan as he says, a warm comforting hand heavy on the Ekon’s knee under the table, and his voice is serious enough for Jonathan to worry, his eyes too soft. “Right now, we have priorities… are we clear?”

As the guards nod, Geoffrey removes his hand and goes back to eating. Jonathan tries not to whine, missing the touch already.

During the rest of the meal, a few guards ask about Charlotte’s appearance, any remarking characteristics that might make her easier to identify, and Johnson keeps sneaking suspicious glances at everyone.

“Someone said a girl like that was hanging around the Ascalon club, right?” A guard suddenly pipes in and Geoffrey promptly reacts:

“And you fail to mention that until now? Why wasn’t that on any of the reports?!”

 _One of these days_ , he thinks to himself.

He might actually end up killing one of his men.

“Well, I didn’t know it was important,” The guard explains with an uninterested shrug. “The place is empty!”

Of course the Ascalon club is the place Charlotte would go to find someone to give her their blood, right? After all, they are recruiting, according to the rumours Geoffrey shared with Jonathan. With a muttered curse. Jonathan abruptly gets up from the table.

“I’m going there,” he warns Geoffrey, voice tight inside his throat, but then a very solid hand wraps around his wrist and stops him on his tracks, rough fingertips against satin soft skin. Strong as the hunter is, he should not be able to stop Jonathan from moving, but he somehow does it.

“Stay, Jonathan. Wait. We’ll go together.”

“But…”

“If this is what we think it is, we’re going to need more people.” He pulls at the vampire’s wrist once and then slowly lets go of it, his fingers moving like a whisper across Jonathan’s for a split-second, and asks, “Sit.”

Dumbfounded, Jonathan obeys. It’s not like Geoffrey has made a very compelling argument, but there is such a tranquil confidence in the way he talks and holds himself that Jonathan finds himself relaxing as his scattered thoughts run amok. He barely hears any of what the men discuss until Geoffrey starts calling out names as everyone begins to stands up.

Just as Jonathan gets ready to follow Geoffrey back upstairs, the Priwen leader lays a heavy hand on his shoulder, again stilling his movements with one simple touch.

“Stay here. I’m going to get my gear and then we’ll go,” he says, soft as a secret, fingers pressing into tight muscle and making Jonathan’s entire body sing. “Don’t go anywhere.”

-x-

In his regular frame of mind, Jonathan would not have waited for Geoffrey. But he is in no ordinary state and he trusts the hunter even though he is not entirely sure what is happening between them. Jonathan was going to kiss him back when he was smoking by the window, there is no denying this. And Geoffrey was going to let him, Jonathan is sure of it. But then the hunter shut himself off, called Jonathan by his last name… and now he keeps touching him so reassuringly.

Jonathan clearly has more urgent things to worry about, but this is the one that makes his stomach feel ice-cold as if he’s about to jump from somewhere very, very high.

When Geoffrey comes back to get him, Jonathan’s heart skips a beat.

He _wants_ the hunter, a feeling that is at once completely unfamiliar and, yet, so easily recognisable. He swallows. This could be a very good thing or an absolute tragedy, he thinks, giddy.

It takes no more than a whispered ‘come with me’ for Jonathan to fall into step beside Geoffrey as they march with four other guards towards the West End. They’re all heavily armed, prepared for a fight, but, when they get to the Ascalon club, Jonathan only senses one presence inside, faint and distant.

On the first floor. Human. Female.

 _Charlotte_.

“There’s no one inside,” Jonathan whispers to himself. “No vampires, I mean.”

“Is _she_ there?” Geoffrey asks with a sombre look.

Jonathan nods. “I think so.”

“You guys wait here,” Geoffrey instructs his men. “We’ll go in first. If someone else shows up, you know what to do.”

The other guards hum in agreement, hands hovering over swords and firearms.

Entering the Ascalon club after their ruin is just as off-putting as it was the first time Jonathan visited the club. There is still blood all over the place, but now no lights are on and there is dust on every surface. Nobody greets them at the door or stops them as they ascend the stairs, but Jonathan stops nevertheless, taking in the abandon and destruction around him. There is something almost poetic about it.

“She’s upstairs,” Jonathan says. Geoffrey nods and goes ahead of the distracted doctor.

Charlotte is sitting on a dusty chair in the saloon upstairs. As soon as she lays eyes on Jonathan, she calls out in a quivering voice:

“Dr. Reid?”

She is not combative as she was when she left Jonathan’s house what feels like a thousand nights ago. She’s just disappointed to see him and does not avoid showing it.

“What are _you_ doing here?” She asks as Jonathan carefully approaches her. Her clothes are not as well kept as usual, her hair a mess of loose strands.

“I got your note,” Jonathan matter-of-factly says.

“Ugh, I _told you_ not to intervene,” she groans, impertinent as a child. Then her eyes skitter to a spot a few steps behind Jonathan and she raises an eyebrow. “And who is _that_ supposed to be?”

Jonathan looks over at Geoffrey thinking, _huh, isn’t that a good question?_

“A friend,” Jonathan replies, but it feels false, a heart-beat too late, and he wonders why. Charlotte makes a face.

“You’re friends with Priwen, now?” She half-mocks, half-censures. “You know they’ve hunted my mum, don’t you?”

The question is asked so casually that it takes Jonathan half a second to process it, but he can’t linger on the information, can’t linger on the sting of betrayal that’s spreading inside him.

“You have to go. I have a meeting with someone,” Charlotte says unconcernedly. Jonathan takes a step forward.

“With whom?” He demands.

The young woman’s eyes are cold as she looks him over.

“Someone who, differently from you, knows how to _share_ ,” she says.

“Ascalon?” Jonathan questions, breathless with revulsion. She nods and Jonathan shakes his head in disappointment. “You can’t _trust_ them, Charlotte…”

“I did come to _you_ first,” she reminds him. “Twice, if I recall correctly!”

Jonathan flinches at the accusation as if she has physically threatened him, but the girl barely moves. He’s about to say something, anything, when they hear it.

The sharp echo of shots being fired downstairs.

“Stay here!” he tells Charlotte. When he turns around to look at Geoffrey, he finds that the hunter is nowhere to be found.

With an aggravated huff, Jonathan rushes down the stairs only to find the headless body of an Ekon in the middle of the main hall, Geoffrey and his men standing around it with varied levels of repugnance on their faces.

“What happened?” Jonathan demands.

“He came out of nowhere!” One of the guards complains, clutching at a bleeding arm.

“Just put pressure on it for now…” Geoffrey instructs, squinting at the injury. “But you should go back to the headquarters to get some antiseptic. The rest of you lot are alright?”

“Yes, sir,” the others reply.

“Take him back, then… and make sure he doesn’t get his sorry arse killed out there,” Geoffrey orders, disgusted glare never leaving the bloodied mess on the floor. Then a wail comes from the stairway and all weapons in the room are raised again.

“Nooo!” Charlotte cries out, rushing down the last couple of steps with a distressed face. Jonathan catches her before she can get to the body, however. He doesn’t think he can stomach the sight of her clutching the beheaded Ekon. “Jeremy…”

“You know him?” Jonathan inquires. He can feel the girl’s entire body shaking as he tries to stop her from moving any closer to the dead vampire on the floor.

“Of course I know him!” She replies. “He’s the Ascalon vampire I’ve been talking to.”

“Heh, he’s not Ascalon, lass,” one of the hunters quite condescendingly says. “He doesn’t have the _pedigree_.”

“What?!” Charlotte exclaims, looking at Jonathan at a total loss. Having been adopted, she looks nothing like her mother, but the sight of her in such distress still makes Jonathan stomach drop heavily.

“Guys, let’s leave them alone, shall we?” Geoffrey suggests in a tone that is definitely not a suggestion and, to Jonathan, adds softly: “I’ll be right outside if you need me…”

“Thank you,” Jonathan replies as Charlotte stops struggling against him with a heartfelt sob. Jonathan carefully wraps an arm around her and lets her weep against his chest.

“I’m so scared…” Charlotte admits in a small voice after a few minutes of quietly sobbing. She sniffles. “After… after my mom. She was immortal, and I… the epidemic… I’m so _scared_.”

“Of what?” Jonathan asks, laying a comforting hand on her shaking back.

“Of dying!” She exclaims as if it was supposed to be obvious. “I can’t… it’s all I can think about. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t do anything…”

Jonathan nods understandingly.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere,” he murmurs.

“I was hiding…” She begrudgingly admits. “I was scared… I _am_ scared. Please, Dr. Reid… _Jonathan_ … I don’t want to die.”

“You’re _not_ going to die. Not for a very long time.” Jonathan says, mindful not so sound too patronising.

“My mother wasn’t supposed to die. Ever! But she did…” Charlotte argues, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. There’s a cold sort of desperation of her face that Jonathan hadn’t paid attention to before.

“I will not let anything happen to you. Trust me,” he says. “You know I’ll protect you.”

“I…” She begins, but her voice breaks. Lowering her gaze, she mumbles: “I don’t know.”

“Oh, child…” Jonathan sighs, wrapping her in another fatherly embrace. “It’s going to be okay…”

“I don’t…” She chokes out against his chest. “Will you reconsider?”

Jonathan hesitates, but end up asking in defeat:

“Will you give me some time to think about it?”

He does not want to be responsible for anyone’s immortal existence for a while, not after what happened with Aloysius Dawson. That the man is _his_ Progeny is something that will haunt him to the end of his days — or Aloysius’, whichever comes first.

He remembers Lady Ashbury didn’t think Charlotte should be turned, though. Therefore, he doesn’t want to sully her memory by doing something she would not approve of. But he still wants to offer some comfort to the girl crying.

“Sure,” Charlotte murmurs as she extricates herself from Jonathan’s arms. There’s still some bitterness on her voice, her face all sorts of wrong. Jonathan offers her his arm, intending to lead her back outside, but, with a blank look, she asks, “Give me a minute, please, Dr. Reid. I need to compose myself.”

Jonathan acquiesces even though he feels as cold as the London evening outside.

Geoffrey, cigarette held loosely between his lips, looks up as Jonathan exits the building and approach him, but the hunter does not says anything.

“The guards?” Jonathan asks. Geoffrey takes a drag before replying:

“Back at the headquarters, I hope.” His dark eyes soften in sympathy. “How was it?”

Jonathan makes a face.

“Not good. I knew she wanted me to turn her, but I never expected her to do something like this…” He admits. “She’s in really bad shape. Has been since her mother passed…”

“The redhead leech?” Geoffrey checks, deceivingly uninterested.

“Lady Ashbury. Yes,” Jonathan replies. “Don’t speak of her like that.”

“Sorry,” Geoffrey quietly says, offering Jonathan his half-smoked cigarette as if that’s part of the apology. Jonathan takes it, thinking absentmindedly about his time in the army, sharing hand-rolled cigarettes back and forth with his companions. As he fills his lungs with bitter smoke, though, it doesn’t feel like the same thing at all. Gratefully, he hands the smoke back to the hunter, who asks, “Is she coming out anytime soon?”

He is looking not looking Jonathan anymore, his gaze lost somewhere across the street. He is tense, though, like an animal expecting an attack.

“She said…” Jonathan begins to answer as he tries to sense Charlotte’s presence, but he interrupts himself, eyes widening.

It all happens in slow motion. Him turning around and running back inside and Geoffrey calling his name in confusion and following him, hot on his heels.

They are too late, though.

Next to Jeremy’s body, Charlotte lies unconscious, lips stained red with the dead Ekon’s blood and her heart gradually slowing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii guys (:  
> I spent last week at my parent's but now I'm back and I'm pushing a few more chapters out this week!  
> (this story is already mostly done anyway)
> 
> Happy holidays, you guys! Love yoou all!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Charlotte, I wonder what will happen to her. Well, at least Jonathan doesn't have to wait alone...

The fact that Avery barely blinks when Jonathan enters the Reid residence with an unconscious Charlotte in his arms and Geoffrey McCullum hot on his heels is a testimony to the butler’s state of mind after Jonathan’s sister and mother left this Earth.

“She’s going to turn into a Skal, Jonathan,” Geoffrey uselessly says as they ascend the stairs to Mary’s old room. Jonathan does not need the information. He is perfectly able to smell the rot spreading through Charlotte’s body.

As Geoffrey holds the door open for Jonathan to enter the darkness of his late sister’s room, the Ekon asks, “What can I do?”

Geoffrey flicks his lighter on to have a look around and Jonathan then is reminded that the hunter needs more light to see, so he carefully lays Charlotte down on the bed and goes to turn on the lamps around the room. In the dim light, Geoffrey looks every bit as lost as Jonathan feels, but he is not avoiding the vampire’s eyes now. It is such a small thing, but it helps Jonathan feel a little more under control.

“Is her heart still beating?” Geoffrey asks and Jonathan needs to get closer to the bed in order to pick up her pulse over his own frantic heartbeat.

“Barely,” he replies. Geoffrey groans in frustration and instructs:

“Feed her your blood. Quick.”

“What?” Jonathan hesitates. Geoffrey does not look happy to insist:

“It will work,” he assures Jonathan. “You’re strong. Your _blood_ … is strong.”

The Ekon looks over at the unconscious girl on the bed, at her pained expression.

“And if it doesn’t work?” He asks, so low it seems like he does not even want to be heard. But Geoffrey hears him and, stepping closer to him, lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“Then you leave and let me do what I do,” he says.

Jonathan inhales noisily and gets moving, trying not to panic. He takes his coat off and lays it on a random surface, movements robotic.

“You might want to leave for this part,” he warns the hunter, undoing the cuffs on his sleeve and bringing his wrist towards his mouth. Geoffrey’s eyes could melt glacier as he asks:

“Do you _want_ me to leave?”

Jonathan pauses as he realizes that he does not want to be alone; he answers, “Not really.” And takes a calming breath. “Well, here goes nothing.”

_It doesn’t even hurt anymore_ , Jonathan muses as fangs sing into his own flesh.

He’s done this so much, so often when he can’t find sustenance to fight. It isn’t the same as feeding, but it keeps the hunger at bay.

Jonathan licks the blood from his lips as he brings his torn wrist to Charlotte’s mouth. She doesn’t drink, though, so Jonathan lifts her head and fills her mouth with blood and then massages her throat to get her to swallow, all the while praying to a God he no longer believes in.

As he steps back, he runs his tongue over the still open wound on his wrist and Geoffrey looks at him as if this is the first time he’s seeing the Ekon. Jonathan has too much on his mind to notice the way the hunter’s eyes are glued to his mouth as the wound slowly closes.

Geoffrey clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you have a smoke?” He asks, surprising Jonathan, who replies:

“Yeah. In my bedroom. Down the hall. There’s a box in there, somewhere…” Jonathan then crouches beside the bed, taking Charlotte’s arm in his hand. Her heart is still beating. “Will you roll me one too?”

Jonathan does not see the face Geoffrey makes at his words, but hears him walking to the other bedroom and shuffling around for a few minutes as he puts the cigarettes together. When he returns, Jonathan is still in the same position. Geoffrey approaches the bed, touches the doctor’s shoulder with light fingers and says:

“Here you go.”

Jonathan is worried out of his mind, but manages a small, fond smile as he accepts the hunter’s offering. It is not the most well-crafted cigarette he’s ever had, but it is not the worst and the apologetic looks on Geoffrey’s face warms his cold heart.

Geoffrey moves out onto the balcony and Jonathan follows him with a soft, “Light?”

This time, Geoffrey actually hands him his lighter and it’s a good thing, Jonathan thinks. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle Geoffrey’s eyes on him the way they were earlier. He doesn’t know what he might do.

Jonathan lights up, inhales deeply and returns the lighter so that the hunter can join him. They smoke in silence for a while until Jonathan says, “You know, I thought about turning you.”

It is one of the rare moments in which Jonathan’s mouth gets ahead of his brain, but he can’t find it in himself to regret his words. Jonathan sets his elbows on the stone railing of the balcony, cold down to his very bones, and feels more than sees Geoffrey turning around to stare at him in astonishment.

“What the fuck, Jonathan?” Geoffrey asks himself than more the doctor. He crosses his arms as he smokes, lower back resting against the railing right next to the Ekon who laughs darkly.

Now that he knows exactly what he’s looking for, Jonathan can pick up Charlotte’s still beating heart on the background of the hunter’s outrage. It’s slow becoming slower still, but it’s there. Still alive. Still human.

“When we fought. When I had you on your knees. At my mercy,” Jonathan explains, not daring look at the man next to him. “I thought about turning you.”

Geoffrey reaction, when it comes, is not a continuation of his former exasperation as Jonathan expected but a soft question:

“Why didn’t you?”

Jonathan finally looks at him. The uncertainty in his eyes is so uncharacteristic it strips Jonathan of any possibility of not being sincere when he answers:

“I didn’t think you would have forgiven me.”

“And why would my forgiveness even matter to you?” The hunter asks, so earnest Jonathan can barely breathe through the puff of white smoke that accompanies the question.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Jonathan replies. It will never cease to surprise him how _difficult_ it is to get through Geoffrey’s skull that he actually _cares_ about the hunter. Feeling like he’s maybe teetering too close to the edge of something massive, Jonathan bravely says, “You might have cast me as your enemy, Geoffrey, but I was never eager play that role. I always thought… we could be allies. Maybe more.”

The last sentence is said in a whisper, but Geoffrey holds on to it, demanding, “What do you mean?”

Jonathan tells himself he is imagining the careful hope in Geoffrey’s voice. It might just be wishful thinking, but he still shuffles closer to the hunter until he can feel the heat radiating from the his body.

“You were never my enemy, Geoffrey,” Jonathan says very sincerely, raising his eyes to meet Geoffrey’s surprised ones as the hunter turns towards him and brings the cigarette up to his mouth one more time. He blows his smoke towards the street, but his eyes never leave Jonathan’s.

It’s early enough in the evening that people are still walking around on the streets below: young couples going out for dinner, for theatre, people returning home from tea that always runs later than expected when you live in a neighbourhood that thrives on gossip. Anyone could look up and see the two men smoking on the balcony, maybe standing a little too close together, but right now Jonathan doesn’t mind as much as he would have in a different time.

It might be the immortality, or maybe it’s all the death he’s been surrounded with since he left for the war. It puts things into perspective. Makes some things seem less important.

He’s still nervous, though, when he lays his free hand on top of Geoffrey’s. He doesn’t intertwine their fingers or anything, just lightly touches each joint before running his fingertips over the back of the hunter’s hand where the skin is soft and thin. He feels the shiver that runs through Geoffrey’s body in his own bones, but it is not discomfort that chills the hunter.

Jonathan slowly brings the cigarette up to his lips. Rolls the smoke between his open lips before inhaling, exhaling, Geoffrey’s eyes a physical presence grazing his face, his mouth, his neck.

Jonathan’s has a nice neck, Geoffrey thinks, and it’s just another nice thing about the Ekon, another one for Geoffrey’ list, along with his hands and voice and… _hands_. His hands are definitely featured more than once and it’s off-putting, it’s what it is, to find a man this attractive. Geoffrey is not sure what he wants to do with this information. He’s not even sure what he _can_ do with this information, the tension on Jonathan’s shoulders not exactly inviting of romance.

But the doctor’s cold fingers are running experimentally across the back of his hand as if searching for comfort and _that’s_ something Geoffrey knows he can provide. Comfort. With a soft sigh, he returns the indulgent touch, finding Jonathan’s fingertips with his own so that their palms fit and press together.

Being this deliberately intimate with someone is not something Geoffrey is very familiar with. Not that he has never been _intimate_ with somebody, but sex does not equal intimacy and his life has never had much space for romance. Now, however, his heart is beating so fast he wonders if those romance novels he used to make fun of girls for reading had something right. He can barely breathe with Jonathan standing so close to him, looking at him so openly and smelling of sweat and cologne, nicotine on his breath.

Geoffrey feels suddenly dizzy and reaches out as if for purchase, hands landing Jonathan’s shoulders. The Ekon freezes.

Geoffrey for a second thinks he’s crossed a line until he realises the doctor is trying to listen to something.

“What is it?” Geoffrey asks, breath catching in his throat.

“Her heart,” Jonathan chokes out. “It stopped.”

Geoffrey swallows, lets his cigarette fall to his feet and smoothly unsheathes his sword. With his free hand, he touches the side of Jonathan’s head and, feeling bold, leans to rest his forehead against the Ekon’s. Jonathan gasps softly and, together, they wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh, the DRAMAAAAA
> 
> and the boys smoking on the balcony *deep sigh* I need to learn how to draw sldkjasldakldjs
> 
> as always, your feedback keeps me going! I hope you guys had an awsome christmas (or whatever you celebrate or not)  
> It hasn't stopped raining the entire week over here, but, yeah, that's good when you're writing I guess lol   
> love you guys! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte wakes up and Jonathan doesn't know how to deal with her. Good thing Geoffrey is there.

Right before dawn breaks, Charlotte Ashbury rises as a ravenous Ekon, blood and nothing else on her mind. The first thing she does is charge towards Geoffrey, who thankfully has had years of practice dodging crazed vampires. Jonathan is also quick on his feet and manages to tackle her before she as much as touches the hunter.

“I’ll be outside…” Geoffrey says before retreating to the balcony, safe under the first rays of sunshine. He stays there while, inside the room, Jonathan tears his wrist open one more time to feed his Progeny.

Almost an hour passes until Jonathan considers it safe to let Geoffrey back inside the room. When the hunter enters, mindful of how much sunlight he allows inside, he immediately notices that Jonathan has a bleeding nose and is clutching at his wounded wrist. On the bed, Charlotte sits, unmoving. Her eyes, still as if she’s not entirely there, focus on Geoffrey and… well, Geoffrey has seen his fair share of creepy Ekons, but Charlotte Ashbury still makes his blood run ice-cold.

“I would like to apologize for attacking you, Mr. McCullum.” Geoffrey blinks at her as she speaks. “It was not very becoming of me.”

The hunter considers remarking how her attacking him was one of the least unbecoming things he has seen of her for the last few hours. It is not wise, however, to poke a sleeping beast, as he knows perfectly well. So he nods curtly and watches as Jonathan leans his head back while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I hope you understand, Dr. Reid, I am not going to call you Father,” Charlotte deadpans. Jonathan lets out a bark of a laugh, but his hand is shaking when he lowers it. He’s weak and Geoffrey wonders exactly how much blood he gave Charlotte. “Is it okay if I sleep here today? I am positively exhausted.”

Her voice is sweet as the fatigue from the transformation settles like dust over her.

“Sure…” Jonathan replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, fine. I just… I can…” Her eyes narrow and focus on Geoffrey, who takes a cautious step away from her. “I can hear your heart, hunter. Your lungs. Your blood…”

“It’s normal,” Jonathan hurriedly explains, moving closer to the hunter on feet that are almost too unsteady to support him. Geoffrey almost reaches out to help him, but he takes another step back instead, feeling like there’s no justification for his presence now that they know Charlotte is not going to become a Skal.

“I’ll let you get some rest,” he offers with a curt nod. Jonathan obviously needs to sleep too, but the stubborn bastard insists on following Geoffrey down the stairs. After all, what he needs and what he wants are two very different things and Jonathan finds himself wanting to do something other than sleep. Something that might begin with him following Geoffrey downstairs.

There are words lost in his throat as he holds the door open for the hunter to exit, but they don’t come out so instead of speaking, he reaches out and wraps Geoffrey in an awkward hug, too tight and too sudden to feel entirely appropriate. All at once, it’s like Jonathan has never hugged a person in his life and Geoffrey doesn’t really help as he at first just stands there, gobsmacked by the sudden proximity.

He hugs Jonathan back, though. Eventually. And it is almost a normal hug until Jonathan, naturally, messes everything up in his weakened state. It’s Geoffrey’s fault, though, smelling the way he smells.

Jonathan buries his nose into the warmth of Geoffrey’s, inhaling the hunter’s scent as he would a cigarette. It’s closer to animal behaviour than human. Geoffrey, skin broken into shivers, indulges the Ekon even though it sounds like a colossally bad idea to let a blood-craving predator near his throat.

“Jonathan…” he calls softly as he feels Jonathan’s lips graze his skin. Jonathan is hungry, Geoffrey tries to remind himself as puffs of air tickle the thin skin of his throat. “Jonathan, stop it. Come on…”

“You smell…” Jonathan begins, but the sentence ends up in a groan as he shoves his nose right behind the hunter’s ear and pants.

“Get a hold of yourself, doctor…” Geoffrey snorts, trying to extricate himself from the vampire’s grasp. It is easier than it should have been, Jonathan too frail to offer any struggle.

Jonathan does not look offended by Geoffrey’s words, but hurt to be pushed away, so the hunter leans closer and lays a small kiss against the doctor’s bearded cheek before whispering, “Go get some sleep, Ekon. I’ll bring you a snack when night comes so you don’t have to go hunting, okay?”

Jonathan nods dumbly, their goodbye more than the promise of sustenance erasing the hurt form his face. He doesn’t have energy enough to overthink the kiss as he falls asleep in his bedroom a few minutes later, but the memory brings a smile to his lips as he drifts off.

-x-

The world is a different place when Charlotte finally wakes up from her slumber. The darkness feels bleaker, the lights so bright it hurts her eyes and, in the back of her mind, there’s a hunger that could end all time.

She knows she can’t allow herself to dwell on it or it will drive her insane, but she indulges it a little before standing up and venturing outside the bedroom.

“Good evening, Miss Charlotte,” Avery greets her when she reaches the hallway. “Are you feeling better already?”

“Quite better. Thank you for asking, Avery,” she replies, docile as she very rarely allows herself to be. She almost asks about Jonathan, but she realises she’s able to feel him nearby. She wonders if it’s their bond, as Maker and Progeny, or if that’s just the way her senses work now. This complete awareness of life forms around her.

Jonathan is already awake, sitting at his desk with a thick book, which he promptly puts aside as Charlotte enters his room. For a second, they don’t say anything. Then Jonathan begins, “It was a very reckless thing you did, Charlotte.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” he decides, standing up. He is already dressed as if expecting the King to stop by for a visit and looks terribly severe as he crosses his arms. “This could have gone horribly, you realise?”

“But it didn’t, did it?” Her words sound less certain than she was going for. Jonathan’s frown deepens and the girl softly adds, “Thank you. For helping me.”

_Saving me_.

“You left me no choice,” Jonathan’s reply is bitter and he is right to be hurt, she thinks. She has, after all, taken advantage of him.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, taking a step towards him, but Jonathan stands his ground.

“No, you are not,” He replies, nostrils flaring. Charlotte smooths her hair back and, for the first time since she awoke, feels self-conscious. “You are an immortal now, Charlotte, and I hope you appreciate how much responsibility that ensues.”

“I will, eventually,” she replies. There is no point in lying. “I feel that coming to terms with this new existence might take a while, though.”

“That’s to be expected,” Jonathan coldly replies. Charlotte bites at her lip nervously and ponders:

“I think I might go back to my mother’s house for the night, if that’s all right with you.” Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “I’d like to be by myself for a while.”

“Will you come to me if you need anything?” he asks. He looks genuinely curious and more than a bit worried. “You don’t have to be alone.”

“I know. And I will. You don’t have to worry about me, Dr. Reid,” Charlotte says, stepping back with a tight-lipped smile. “I will be fine, now. I really don’t need you to tutor me.”

“I’ll be here if you change your mind,” says Jonathan. “Good night, Charlotte.”

“Good night, Dr. Reid.”

-x-

As much as Jonathan worries about Charlotte Ashbury, he is also hurt and hungry, so, he thinks, his bad mood is justifiable.

He does not go hunting, though, because the last thing Geoffrey told him before leaving the night before was that he was going to bring him a snack. Jonathan doesn’t really expect the hunter to provide him with sustenance, but the promise of his visit is the only thing keeping the Ekon from taking a stroll through the streets in search of a rat or a random Skal.

He and Geoffrey do have, after all, unfinished business.

Jonathan waits, then, propped against the balcony’s railing with a cigarette in his hand. It’s around ten when Geoffrey shows up, marching across the street with a couple bags of blood under his arm. He approaches Jonathan’s front door but, before he can knock, the Ekon whooshes through the darkness of the night and appears right behind him.

“Geoffrey,” he whispers next to the hunter’s ear and laughs at his startled jump.

“Jonathan,” Geoffrey replies a little breathlessly, turning around to greet the other man. Jonathan smiles softly at him and raises an eyebrow.

“I see you kept your word.”

“What?”

“The blood. I can smell it.” Jonathan nods towards the canvas bag the hunter is carrying.

“Oh, this? I pulled some strings,” Geoffrey sheepishly says. He didn’t really want Jonathan to go around London looking for blood in the state he is in. With an awkward shrug, Geoffrey asks, “Are you still hungry?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan replies, voice rolling like thunder against the quiet night air, but he is not talking about the blood. It takes Geoffrey a second too long to understand it as Jonathan backs him against the closed door and kisses his lips.

When Geoffrey does catch up to what is happening, he brings both hands up to frame Jonathan’s face and kisses back, deepening the contact, biting and nipping, licking his way into Jonathan’s mouth.

Geoffrey kisses as if this is the only chance he is ever going to get and Jonathan indulges him, sucking on his tongue while allowing his hands to roam over the hunter’s firm body, grabbing his waist and pulling him closer, tighter.

Geoffrey lets out a breathless, hungry noise from somewhere deep inside his chest and Jonathan feels his entire body responds with throbbing need. He feels an urgency the proportions of which he doesn’t remember having felt since the first night he woke up as a vampire, but even his hunger feels eclipsed now as he shoves one thigh between the hunter’s legs just to feel him arch, trying to get more pressure, friction on the hot, hard length inside his trousers.

“Weren’t you hungry?” Geoffrey nervously asks, but he is smiling into the kiss.

“It can wait,” Jonathan replies with a dirty roll of his hips. Now that he has the exquisite taste of the hunter on his tongue, he can’t imagine ever having enough of it, of the smell of his arousal. Voice deep with lust, he asks, “Come upstairs with me?”

“I have work to do,” Geoffrey coyly replies, but the smile is still there, tempting Jonathan.

“Right now?” Jonathan asks, hands sliding under the hunter’s uniform in search of warm skin. Geoffrey shivers and melts into another kiss.

“Oh, it can wait,” he considers after a second. Jonathan laughs against his lips, his chest filled with joyful recklessness.

“Come with me, then,” he invites with a wicked glint in his eyes, arms tightening around Geoffrey and hands sliding under the hunter’s uniform until he can run his nails over the soft hairs on his lower back.

“Where?” Geoffrey demands, resting his head against the closed door. His eyes are dark, gleaming under the porch light, cheeks and lips a bright pink. Jonathan feels thirsty. He wants to see Geoffrey wrecked with lust, wants to check how far down the beautiful blush on his face goes.

“A shortcut,” Jonathan explains with a smirk, tightening his hold around the hunter and focusing all energy on getting them to the balcony above. Geoffrey grabs onto Jonathan when they land, looking around, startled.

“Oh, that felt weird,” Geoffrey says to himself, taking a step back and breathing through his nose. Jonathan hopes he didn’t upset his stomach with the jump, but he really didn’t want to walk all over the house and make small talk with Avery before taking Geoffrey to his room.

Now, however, they’re right in front of the open bedroom door and Jonathan takes a step forward, backing Geoffrey inside with a playful grin that is mirrored on the hunter’s face. Jonathan begins to undo the buttons on his waistcoat with a raised eyebrow and offers:

“Oh, will allow me to make it up to you, then?”

The answering predatory glint in the hunter’s dark eyes should be considered _illegal_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> foreplay oh yeaaaah  
> we're going places, sweeties  
> thanks for sticking around ;)  
> there's more coming (lol) soon


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey and Jonathan get to spend some quality time together and work on the unresolved stuff they have.

As soon as he steps inside Jonathan’s bedroom, Geoffrey kicks his boots and socks off and lays back against the headboard of the Ekon’s bed. Under the hunter’s heated gaze, Jonathan very deliberately undresses, the shame he was raised to feel nowhere to be found and every discarded article of clothing another shade of a landscape he never knew he wanted this much.

He knows one or two things about hunger, Jonathan, but what he sees in Geoffrey’s eyes make him feel hot and cold at the same time. He’s never been looked at with so much desire before.

Geoffrey’s breath catches inside his throat and he reaches down to stroke himself through his pants, eyes glued to Jonathan’s pale skin, his pink nipples so inviting under the warm light it makes his mouth water. The list of attractive things he sees in Jonathan just keeps growing, out of control, and Geoffrey is almost afraid of what memories this night will plant inside his brain.

He doubts he will survive it and is already so on edge he has to take his hand off himself and breathe slow, even breaths.

The sleek musculature of Jonathan’s body pulls as he moves closer to the bed, closer to Geoffrey, and the Ekon undoes the button on his trousers, but then stops, a question lingering.

Geoffrey’s answer is to reach out to finish opening the offending piece of clothing. He doesn’t give Jonathan time to take it off, however, eager fingers reaching inside to grasp at the Ekon’s hardened length. Jonathan lets out a shaky sound, hips pressing forwards involuntarily. Geoffrey pulls him out, fingers tightening, sliding from the thick base of his erection to the wet tip.

“Fuck…” Geoffrey mutters, a sense of fatality washing over him. How is he supposed to go back from this?

Jonathan’s fingers wrap around Geoffrey’s, guiding his movements and then stilling them so that he can get the rest of his clothes off.

“There seems to be some imbalance regarding nudity in here, don’t you agree… Geoffrey?” Jonathan whispers, going for light-hearted, but there is a tremor in his voice. He pulls one knee up on the mattress, unashamedly exposing himself to the hunter and even basking in his starved stare, and tries again, more softly, “Undress, love… Unless, it is, you don’t want to.”

“Believe me, I want to,” Geoffrey replies in a rush, removing his own clothes with practical, quick movements. Face heating up, he admits, “Just… I’m a little distracted.”

Talking makes him feel a bit less self-conscious and his words delight Jonathan, who smiles and asks:

“Am I… distracting?”

“You’re mocking me,” Geoffrey half-heartedly complains, laying back against the pillows and looking up at Jonathan. He should feel vulnerable, lying there without even a weapon nearby, but what he feels is something else entirely. To Jonathan, he says, “What you are is delicious, Ekon. Absolutely… _gorgeous_.”

Geoffrey does not remember choosing those words, but they feel right even if Jonathan does not comprehend them immediately. Delicious. Gorgeous. That’s what _Geoffrey_ is, broad muscled chest covered by dark wiry hair that trails down his abdomen towards where his thick hard cock lies against his thigh, filled with blood and angry-looking.

Jonathan’s mouth goes dry.

“Are you just going to look, doctor?” Geoffrey teases him even as he fights an impulse to hide himself. “Not that I would object…”

“Can I do more than just look, then?” Jonathan asks, moving to straddle the hunter.

“You can do whatever you want…” Geoffrey assures him, voice dripping with heat that makes Jonathan dizzy.

“You have no idea…” Jonathan trails off as Geoffrey runs warm hands up his thighs. With his thumbs, the hunter draws circles on the Ekon’s sharp hips. Jonathan shifts against him and hisses, “You have no idea the _things_ I want to do to you.”

Jonathan barely knows where to begin, Geoffrey’s teasing touch electrifying his skin. The hunter takes pity on him, though, and asks, “Kiss me.”

Jonathan heart skips a beat but he promptly obeys, fingers digging into the hunter’s hair to tip his head back so the kiss can turn rough and messy. Jonathan’s movement brings their bodies closer together, skin against soft, warm skin ripping a ravenous groan out of the Ekon’s throat. Their hips align and press and Geoffrey drags short nails down Jonathan’s back, marvelling at every shift of the muscles under his hands.

Jonathan trails kisses down Geoffrey’s jaw until he reaches his throat where the Ekon seems bent on leaving his mark.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…” Geoffrey chokes out, legs spreading out of their own accord. He finds purchase with his feet on the mattress and thrusts up, moaning, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

“You taste so good…” Jonathan murmurs, his normally smooth voice reduced to a husky confession. Geoffrey is so turned on it takes him a second to realise having a predator with their teeth so close to his throat should make him scared, not out of his mind with arousal. As if able to hear his thoughts, Jonathan says, “I won’t bite, Geoffrey… you trust me, right?”

“Damn me, I do…”

Jonathan has good hands, that much Geoffrey already knew. The man is a doctor. He rolls his own cigarettes. But that piece of information couldn’t prepare him for the reality of Jonathan’s fingers wrapped around his cock with just the right pressure, going up and down with clear purpose, the most delicious twist against the weeping head.

Geoffrey has no choice but to grab him by the back of the head and bring him back into a deep, spine-melting kiss that he can’t keep up, too out of breath, choking on moans and curses. Jonathan takes advantage of Geoffrey’s distraction to put his mouth back on the hunter’s skin, trailing kisses down the hollow between Geoffrey’s pectorals and moving lower still.

Geoffrey is not proud of the sound he makes when he feels Jonathan’s breath tickling his cock.

“Is this okay?” Jonathan asks and Geoffrey makes the mistake of looking down. Jonathan has Geoffrey’s cock between his fingers, eyes wide and searching, waiting for an answer, but lips open in hunger.

Geoffrey nods dumbly and flops down onto the pillows, expecting Jonathan’s mouth. What he gets, though, is Jonathan’s nose buried against the soft curls of his pubes, breathing him in.

“Do I smell or something?” Geoffrey asks, self-consciousness catching up to him, but Jonathan sounds half-drugged when he groans:

“You smell _good_ …” and Geoffrey relaxes, running a hand through the vampire’s dark hair, not pushing, just… very gently holding _on_. He has to, otherwise he might be dragged away as the very air around threatens to swallow him up. “ _So_ good, Geoffrey…”

Geoffrey’s gentleness is short-lived, though. As Jonathan envelops the hunter’s length with his mouth, Geoffrey’s fingers tighten on the Ekon’s hair and his hips shift and push.

“Goddamn it, Jonathan…” Geoffrey curses. Jonathan hollows his cheeks, marvelling at each twist of Geoffrey’s muscles, his soft sighs and choked off moans, the bursts of precome on his tongue. After a few minutes, Geoffrey finds himself begging, “Stop, stop it… come on…”

Jonathan looks up at him with worry in his eyes.

“Why?” He asks. Geoffrey bites his lower lip as if it pains him to stop and touches Jonathan’s face, thumbs his wet lower lip.

“Don’t wanna come yet,” he awkwardly explains. He’s a grown man. He’s supposed to have more control than that. “Come here,” Geoffrey beckons and Jonathan falls into his kiss, mouth tasting of salt.

Geoffrey doesn’t allow the kiss to break even as he pushes Jonathan down onto the mattress and traps the Ekon under his heavier form. The kiss turns slow and dirty as Jonathan wraps a leg around Geoffrey’s hips and pulls him flush against him. Geoffrey considers paying Jonathan the same attention he’s received, but as soon as he wraps his hand around the Ekon’s cock, Jonathan pleads into the kiss, “Don’t stop.”

Geoffrey, never one to shy away from direct orders, does not stop. Jonathan shifts his hips, allowing Geoffrey to make space for himself between the other man’s legs, cock dragging and pressing next to his balls. Geoffrey sucks on Jonathan’s tongue, his cock sliding between the Ekon’s cheeks. Jonathan whimpers softly into the kiss.

“Ah, fuck… can I just…?”

‘Put it in’ is what Geoffrey wants to ask, but he can’t bring himself to form the words. Jonathan nods blindly. Geoffrey parts the kiss to spit into his hand and wet his cock and Jonathan’s hole before lining himself up.

He does not know what to expect as he shoves forward into blinding pressure and he is definitely not ready for the way Jonathan’s body _opens up_ for him, squeezing him inside… well, if he died right then, he would die a happy man.

“Does it hurt?” Geoffrey asks through gritted teeth, trying to slow down. It’s tough, though. It’s too damn good, Jonathan moaning weakly inside his mouth, barely able to respond to the kiss.

“No, but it’s…” Jonathan replies, fingers digging into Geoffrey’s shoulders. Geoffrey takes a second to just look into Jonathan’s bright eyes and breathe with him the delightful surprise that this is, this thing they stumbled upon. “It feels so… so much.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Geoffrey checks. He doesn’t really think it is possible to stop, but if Jonathan wanted… if he changed his mind…

“No… Fuck,” Jonathan quickly responds, dragging Geoffrey so that their foreheads press together as the hunter sinks to the hilt. Jonathan shifts his hips experimentally and demands, “Fuck, Geoffrey! Geoffrey, please… touch me. Touch me…”

Geoffrey wraps one hand around Jonathan’s throbbing cock and pulls back just to thrust back in, movements becoming sharper and stronger as he gains confidence and momentum. Jonathan kisses Geoffrey as the hunter loses himself inside him, pinning him to the bed so that he can do little other than to thrust up into Geoffrey’s hand and back down onto his cock.

When Geoffrey breaks the kiss to look at Jonathan, what he sees is nothing like the usual proper doctor with the careful bedside manner and soft voice. Jonathan’s voice is ruined, broken sobs and moans pouring out like water from a broken dam. His face is flushed pink, mouth bruised red from Geoffrey’s stubble and teeth, eyes dark and glassy.

Geoffrey _has_ to touch it. Jonathan’s face. His mouth. He thumbs Jonathan’s lower lip until a wet tongue reaches out to taste his finger. Geoffrey moans weakly, thrusts a little harder and lets Jonathan to suck on his thumb for a second before offering:

“You can bite if you want.” Jonathan eyes darken dangerously. “It’s okay. Just a bit, yeah?”

Jonathan does not answer, but he does not need to. He opens his mouth wider, tongue mapping every crease on Geoffrey’s palm until he reaches the hypothenar eminence where he sinks a fang. Just a little, barely enough to get any blood, but his body _sings_ with it and as he sucks, his cock pulses in Geoffrey’s free hand.

He is not able to tell precisely when he starts to come or when he stops, but he feels when _Geoffrey_ does, the hunter’s thrusts becoming erratic, rough, and then the thick warmth of his semen pouring into Jonathan’s body, bursts of lava spreading, burning, swallowing the entire world.

Geoffrey is loud when he comes, face twisted in an almost pained expression, and Jonathan wants to keep this forever. The whole sensory picture of him, his heat, his smell, taste, sounds. He doesn’t want it to end.

Geoffrey tastes his own blood when he breathlessly kisses Jonathan. His heart is beating in his eardrums as he crumbles on top of the Ekon who pets his hair until his breathing evens out.

“Fucking hell, Jonathan…” Geoffrey swears, stealing another kiss. He’s addicted. He’s never been that big on kissing before and that, more than anything else, has him convinced that the vampire doctor is going to be the death of him.

“That’s one way of putting it…” Jonathan grins when they part, cheeky. “It seems that, after all, vampires _can_ fuck…”

“What?” Geoffrey questions, rolling to the side as not to crush his lover. Jonathan smiles lazily.

“Something someone asked me some time ago and I couldn’t answer at the time,” He clarifies, laying his head on the hunter’s chest, soft hair tickling his face in a way that shouldn’t make his blood boil in his veins, and yet...

“But now you know,” Geoffrey chuckles, fingers burying into Jonathan’s hair and rubbing at his scalp as the Ekon nuzzles his chest.

“Now I know,” Jonathan quietly replies.

For a really long time, they just lie there trading light caresses and soft, pleased noises. If anyone said, that first night they shared a cigarette, that this is where they would have ended up, none of them would have believed it. And neither knows where exactly they will go from there and before any darkness can emerge on Geoffrey’s mind, he asks his lover:

“Can you roll me a cigarette?” Jonathan doesn’t answer. “You’re so much better at it, love.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise, at this point, that that little word is able to drag Jonathan away from his torpor to please the hunter. He is pretty sure Geoffrey could ask him to do pretty much anything if he chose to punctuate the request like that. Love.

Naked and covered in sweat and come, Jonathan stands up and gets the supplies from his desk. He is perfectly aware of Geoffrey’s eyes following his every movement, his fingers, his tongue sealing the cigarette closed. Jonathan lights the smoke up and takes a drag before offering it to Geoffrey’s lips. They trade it back and forth until it’s finished and Geoffrey asks:

“Will you turn me, now that we…?”

It’s a stupid question and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Jonathan looks up at him, at once amused and very serious.

“Not unless you want me to,” He whispers, damp breath bitter with nicotine that Geoffrey wants to _taste_. “Whenever you want, _if_ you want. Just say the word.”

Geoffrey swallows and tears his eyes away from Jonathan’s too honest, too raw gaze.

“I’ll think of it,” the hunter ends up saying. He smiles to himself, then, and says, “Imagine, I could be the greatest vampire hunter ever. Your worst nightmare, in truth!”

“I bet you could…” Jonathan coos and Geoffrey kisses him just because he is being too sassy for his liking. Then, just because he can, he kisses him some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, don't you just love it when unresolved sexual tension gets resolved?


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later, how is everybody?

_Six months later…_

Saturday nights are particularly noisy around the West End, the whole quarter buzzing with noise as people tend to their social affairs. At the Reid residence, it isn’t very different. In the kitchen, Avery shuffles about getting the dinner (that only Geoffrey McCullum is going to enjoy) ready and, upstairs, Jonathan Reid is getting ready inside his room. Neither him nor Charlotte Ashbury, one of his two guests for the evening, can stomach food, but they still indulge Avery’s culinary aspirations. As far as Jonathan remembers, he is pretty decent so the homeless people around town actually have a delicious meal every now and then from the doggy bags Jonathan puts together when Avery is not looking.

The doctor’s mind at the moment, though, is very far from food as he tries to decide which waistcoat to put on. He is still half-dressed when a knock at the door announces Charlotte’s arrival.

Jonathan was pleasantly surprised to find out that the girl was right about what she said right after being turned. Jonathan needed not have worried about her as she proved a more than self-sufficient Progeny. No need for tutoring. As time passed, Jonathan found it easy in his heart to forgive her and easier still to let her have a place in his life, at his table, every other week.

Avery seems happier when she comes over, happier to have people walking around the house. He is smiling, then, when he opens the door to greet Charlotte. As she enters, he motions to the small box in her hands and asks, “If I may inquire, Miss Ashbury, what is that?”

Charlotte smiles knowingly at the old butler before handing him the box.

“Chocolate fudge, as I am sure you knew already,” she says, watching as the butler’s tired eyes light up in excitement. When Jonathan told her Avery had a sweet tooth, she knew exactly what to do to win him over. “They’re for you and for Geoffrey, so try not to eat them all before dinner.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, Miss Ashbury,” Avery eagerly says, opening the box to peek at the sweets inside. “Won’t you have any? And what about Mr. Jonathan?”

“He doesn’t like them. And I’m watching my figure,” Charlotte lies. She knows it’s not a very feminist excuse, but it works.

“Oh. Alright, then,” Avery says, helping her out of her coat.

“Where is Jonathan, by the way?” She asks.

“On his balcony, I’d guess,” Avery replies. “Smoking.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes, but goes upstairs anyway. Jonathan’s bedroom door is wide open and when she doesn’t see him inside the room, she understands Avery was right.

“Oh, those smell terrible… how can you stand it?” She admonishes Jonathan not for the first time and leans in so the older Ekon can kiss her cheek.

“Oh, one of those bad habits we indulge, you know?” Jonathan replies with an unconcerned shrug. “I blame Geoffrey.”

“As if Geoffrey himself is not a bad habit…”

Jonathan smiles mysteriously. He looks good, Charlotte thinks. She could even understand her mother’s interest in the man, were it not for him being such an incorrigible smoker.

“He’s late,” Charlotte points out but Jonathan doesn’t seem the least worried about her words.

“He’s right there,” he says, pointing to the street. The instant Charlotte spots Geoffrey making his way towards the mansion, the only thing left of Jonathan beside her is the faint smell of smoke as the doctor rushes down the stairs to get to greet his... lover? Boyfriend? Charlotte is not sure, but she’s happy for them. He truly is. Happy for the excited gleam on Jonathan’s icy gaze, for the small but ever present smile that graces his austere face more often than not.

Geoffrey hasn’t even knocked on the door yet when Jonathan pulls it wide open. They smile at each other as if they hadn’t been together just the night before and look around for a second, checking if they’re safe from prying eyes. Jonathan then crosses the space between them and envelops Geoffrey in a tight embrace.

Geoffrey hugs him back, face buried into the Ekon’s neck in an embrace entirely too long to be casual or platonic. Jonathan is a good hugger. That much Geoffrey gathered a while back. The way arches against his chest, slim waist a perfect fit in his arms, almost begging to be held tighter, closer.

“You smell nice,” Geoffrey murmurs as they pull back just enough to look at each other. Jonathan can’t stop smiling, heart beating excitedly inside his ribcage.

“Glad you like my cologne,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. It’s already been a few months since that first kiss they shared outside this very door, but every time they kiss Jonathan feels like time stops.

“I like _you_ , you beautiful bastard,” Geoffrey whispers back before deepening the kiss, smart tongue snatching the breath right out of Jonathan’s lungs.

“Mr. Jonathan, who i-… Oh!” Avery stops himself with a surprised exclamation that startles Jonathan into breaking the kiss. “Good… good evening, Mr. McCullum.”

Face burning, Geoffrey steps back. Smoothing invisible creases on his clothes, he mumbles, “Evening…”

“May I take your coat, sir?”

“Sure,” Geoffrey says, stepping inside the house with an unhappy frown. Jonathan can’t help but give him a teasing smile as Avery helps him out of his coat. When Avery isn’t looking, Jonathan blows Geoffrey a kiss that has the hunter scowling and blushing. “Is Charlotte here already?”

“She’s upstairs,” Jonathan replies, leading Geoffrey towards the dining room. “Wait here and I’ll go get her… are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Geoffrey replies but, with the way he is eyeing Jonathan, he does not seem to be talking about food. Before the Ekon has a chance to go fetch Charlotte, Geoffrey takes advantage of Avery’s absence to steal another dizzying kiss. “ _Now_ you may go get her…”

“Get whom?” An amused voice sounds from across the room, but this time Geoffrey isn’t startled. He still steps back a little, though, never one to thrive in front of an audience. With a disapproving glare, Charlotte comments, “Figured you airheads would have forgotten about me.”

“Charlotte,” Geoffrey nods at her. She smiles back at him with a sad kind of warmth in her eyes.

“Geoffrey,” She politely replies. Then, gesturing towards the table, “Shall we? I brought some dessert tonight.”

Even after all the times they sat at the table together, Geoffrey is still wary of Charlotte. She knows he is not entirely wrong to be, but the promise of dessert softens him a little. He sits down next to Jonathan and Charlotte follows suit, running her fingers through the fine tablecloth Avery selected for the evening.

She knows her mother was such a dignified woman not many things on this Earth could surprise her. Still, she would give anything to see the woman’s reaction to the adoring way her protégé now looks at the leader of the Priwen Guard or, even better, to the heated looks Geoffrey sneaks at the Ekon when he thinks nobody is looking. She would surely be shocked, Charlotte thinks.

Not in a bad way, though.

Well, maybe about the amount of cigarettes the two of them smoke together…

 _Men_ , Charlotte thinks, rolling her eyes as Jonathan whispers something that startles a hearty laugh out of Geoffrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for accompanying me through this story! all the feedback I've received on this and the other pieces is really what kept me going at such speed! This and Muddy Waters are the last pieces of my NaNoWriMo spree and I will slow down a little bit with updates, but there are quite a few other stories to be posted... inspiration never stops and I have even though of doing a Vampyr version of A Christmas Prince because idk I might be losing it
> 
> also, i've resurrected my tumblr, so you can find me there at itsalwayssunnyintaubate.tumblr.com  
> (I actually plan on doing the supernatural kink bingo this year, so, yeah)
> 
> I hope to see you guys around! Have an awesome new year! See you all in 2019! Lots of love  
> <3


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